


ghosts are always dead.

by argylemikewheeler



Series: Tumblr Re-posts [65]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Lovely Boyfriend Mike Wheeler, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 04:39:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19288312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: Prompt: The last now-memory that Will got from the Mindflayer was an image of Mike and his friends watching the tunnels burn, watching HIM burn and that sticks with him, even once he’s no longer possessed. Maybe he is subconsciously resentful towards them? Maybe he’s somewhat afraid of them? Maybe he knows why, or maybe not. But something’s changed and it seems like he’s beginning to withdraw from the Party.





	ghosts are always dead.

The Now-Memory had been completely repressed until a sweltering August day in 1986.

The Party was sitting in Mike’s basement– to absolutely no one’s surprise– and trying to wait out the sun to go night swimming. There was very little entertainment to speak of, except to be absolutely destroyed by El in a game of Monopoly. She’d not only caught up on knowledge of American currency, she got  _very_  good at gambling. Dustin claimed she had gained extra mind reading powers, but Will knew she was just great at statistics. He saw her math tests on the fridge every morning.

It was Lucas’ turn to roll when Max purposefully poked his sides playfully and got him to overshoot the table. The two dice flew off the table and under the couch. At that exact moment, like the haunting echo a ghostly sweet memory, the lights switched off. The quiet hum of the fans dipped down into slow, paced silence as the panels spun to a stop.

Something inside of Will felt like it had been pricked, his whole body recoiling and trying to anchor himself the table. But he wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s just Ted.” Mike said, waving at the ceiling flippantly. “He’s trying to fix the TV but keeps throwing the breaker.”

“Why don’t you help him?” Dustin asked.

“Oh, that’s  _his_  problem.” Mike said, shaking his head and laughing. “This is day three of power failure. Day five is when I’ll just do it while he’s sleeping.”

“Everyone okay down here?” Mrs. Wheeler said, poking her head into the basement.

“Could probably use some light.” Mike said, leaning his chair back. He gripped the table, not as harshly as Will though. His fingers poked against Will’s fingers gently.

“I want to save the flashlight batteries. Do you mind using the candles down there, Mike?”

“Sure.” Mike let his chair fall and rest upright. “They’re in the closet, I’ll get it– and  _no body_ say to get myself while I’m in there.” He pointed at the rest of the group, cracking a slow smile. The rest of the group pretended to not know  _what_ he was talking about.

Will was still waiting for the lights to start flickering. The walls to start bending. The floor to creak by a set of feet not accounted for. He stayed perfectly still and breathed slowly-- quietly. It couldn’t find him, it couldn’t find it, it  _wouldn’t_  find him. Not again.

Mike stood from his chair and passed behind Will, placing his hand on his shoulder. His fingers ran across his back before sliding off, Mike turning his head to cast a quick look at Will’s face. Mike’s own was furrowed in quiet concern: Will’s back was completely rigid.

“You okay, Will?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just, uh, the dark. The lights… Took me back.” Will had had his first nightmare in two years just three nights prior. It was nothing, really. Will had experienced worse– although, truthfully, there was something horrific about watching Mike scream “ _it’s a trap! it’s a trap!”_ through fogged and paralyzed eyes.

“Oh. Well, I’m going to get some lights for us. And they  _won’t_  go out with Ted’s stupidity.” Mike said. He crouched down and dug through the bottom bin under the shelves. He hoisted out– with a quiet swear and grunt– a box of candles. He shuffled it over to his chair and dropped it down gracelessly, all the glass containers clanging together.

“Dustin, you still carry Steve’s old lighter?” Mike held his hand out without looking.

“Of course I do.” Dustin dug into his inside vest pocket and produced Steve’s old cigarette lighter– at least before they all got him to quit.

“Alright, Party. What do we elect should be the smell of the afternoon? I’ve got… Honeydew Melon… Evergreen something or other… Sugar cookie!” As he named them, he popped the lids and began placing them around the table. Apparently he voted them all.

Will didn’t care. It was still too dark, and as much as Mike was trying to be funny and helpful, he was taking _too long_.

“Do you want me to do it?” Will offered, finally lifting his hands from the table. His nails left an impression in the wood surface. He moved his paper money over it, hoping Mike wouldn’t notice.

“No, I’ve got it, Plum.”

Mike cupped his hand around the closest candle– Something Sunshine– and clicked the lighter. It didn’t spark at first, Mike muttering and readjusting his fingers. Finally, nearly as Mike’s hand slipped, the lighter caught and held a flame.

Something was wrong. Something was  _very_  wrong.

The heat from the flame was barely noticeable– Will  _knew_  that– but his fingers began to feel white hot, like the ends were wicks ready to be scorched. His entire body began to flush-- but also run cold, staring at Mike as he lit every candle. The glow of the flame flickered shadows up onto his face– all of their faces.

_They upset me. They want to hurt us. They want you dead._

The room shrank away from Will, the colorful table and board game blurring into the lapping flames torching His Body. Every breath felt like he was inhaling smoke all over again– back when he was being burned alive; his body convulsing and mind trying to do the same. He remembered the story of the strategy: the Party driving a beaten Steve Harrington to the Tunnels to try and attract every demodog away from the Gate to allow a clear path for El.

Will never asked for much detail or clarification of the take down plan. He was just glad to have an uninterrupted, individual thought. There was no secondary voice, no challenge to his autonomy. Will never asked who lit the flame, who even volunteered the idea, or who was the last to turn away. It didn’t matter all that much– Will had a clear enough vision of it all then, sitting in the basement.

Eyes, ten of them, locked onto Will– or what Will thought was himself at the time– engulfed in bright, white-hot, growing flames. The very last shred of Will that was clinging on, following the sound of the five voices he knew. He thrashed and screamed against a phantom pain he’d never learn to be real, but never be able to forget. Those five voices– their owners rather– stood before the fire, watching it try to eat Will alive. They caused that pain, like it wasn’t going to leave an impression on Will. Like it would all just turn to ash.

Clearer than all the others, Will could now remember being shown Mike, standing just behind Steve. His face was covered by most of his protective gear, but even Will’s past Now-Memory knew who it was. No reiteration of Will could ever forget his Mike. The Mike that visited him frequently in the hospital for the week after his possession. The Mike that helped him catch up on his schoolwork and not fall back a year. The Mike that Will learned was being more than friendly for a  _reason_ , and that Will was finally allowed to admit his own feelings about his best friend. The Mike that was Will’s hidden partner to every event and good night call via SuperCom.

But that Mike wasn’t exactly  _this_ Mike. This Mike was unafraid, standing over Will’s boiling corpse, only moving away when Dustin started shoving everyone back. He was going to watch Will die. They all were.

Before Will truly noticed, he had stood from their game table and was going for the door. Typically, Will always left out the front door, making sure he’d say goodbye to Mrs. Wheeler. In his distanced state, Will went for the backdoor just across the room. His trembling hands fiddled with the lock before yanking it open and stepping outside. The sun had begun to set. The sky was melting before Will’s very eyes into threatening, bleeding red clouds.

 _They want you dead_.

“Will? Hey, Will! What’s wrong?” Mike was running after him. He didn’t even know he was walking that fast. The rest of the Party hung back by the door, gripping the frame to pack into the tight space.

“I have to go home.” Will didn’t stop. He wasn’t too sure who or what had control of his legs.

“I thought we were going to go swimming.”

“I want to go home.”

“Okay, that’s– Will, would you please  _stop_!” Mike sprinted ahead with a last heave and stopped in front of Will. Will skidded to a halt to avoid collision. He looked at Will again, this time the burning red was behind Mike’s face instead of between them. “What’s the problem?”

“I… I just really don’t feel well and I want to lay down for a while. Maybe take a warm bath or something.” Will would later sit in the bathtub, skin so hot and aching, he’d be sure nothing had survived his first burn. He’d  _still_ be alone.

“Oh, okay.” Mike didn’t disagree. “Call me when you get home?”

“Sure.” Will nodded despite having no intention of speaking to anyone else that day.

“Okay.” Mike stepped forward, hand extended as if to touch Will’s hand. Will recoiled, holding them against his chest. Mike blinked, looking at his own hand again in confusion. “Okay.” He said again. “I’ll see you later, Will. Take care of yourself and call if you need anything.”

“I will.” Will lied.

“One two three.” Mike smiled, hands at his sides. Their goodbye was a subtle, coded way of counting the three words they were never comfortable saying to each other in case anyone heard. Will had never been more thankful for the secrecy; he didn’t think he could stand hearing Mike say those words when he could still feel the heat of the fire against his skin.

“One two three.” Will repeated, although he just meant the numbers then. Just then.  _Only_ then. Will knew he loved Mike, his vision just seemed to refuse to show him any Mike that he  _did_  love. He kept seeing blue goggles. Ten eyes. One glinting lighter. Not one endearing, protective boyfriend.

The walk home was nearly an hour. Every step felt like a mile, but Will had barely lifted his shoes off the ground. As he walked in his front door, the sun had completely set, but he was still soaked in sweat from the unrelenting humidity. Hopper and Joyce were eating at the table, laughing just as Will interrupted.

“Hey! You’re home really early.” Joyce said, placing her fork down. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“I thought you were at Wheeler’s place.” Hopper said. “That’s where I took El.”

“We all were. I just wanted to come home… I’m exhausted.” Will shuffled inside and kicked off his shoes. “I’m going to bed, don’t worry. Keep eating.”

“You look terrible, Will. Did you two have a fight or something?” Joyce stood and met Will at the door.

“No. We didn’t.” Will hadn’t even known about Mike’s actions to begin arguing with him. He was learning about all of it through a less present Now-Memory. “We’re fine.”

“Are you sure, baby, you–”

“Joyce, let him go. He’s probably got a lot on his mind.” Hopper said, balancing his firmness with a gentle wave back over to the table. “We’ll talk later, alright kiddo?”

“Sure.” Will sulked off without even looking Hopper in the eye. He didn’t want any more than ten fixated on him.

As Will flopped on the bed, one steady thought cut through the overwhelming return of a memory fostering just under his consciousness: there were ten eyes– five people– and no one moved to save him. They wanted to let Will die, whether they knew who it was in those flames or not.  _They wanted to kill you–_

Will turned over harshly in his bed and tried to silence the familiar but finally articulated feelings pulsing through him. His friends were burning something– one  _thing_ – to save everyone else. They were being noble and brave and smart, and definitely were not trying to harm Will. Not Will himself. Not  _their_ Will.

Will wondered if he was still the same one they were trying to save.

* * *

 

Mike called three times. In two hours.

Eventually, Hopper took the phone out of the wall to plug it in on Will’s side table. He told Will to answer the phone-- answer  _his boy_ \-- or he’d drive Mike over to their house himself. By the fifth call, Will reached over and grabbed the phone, holding the receiver to his ear not covered by his pillow.

“Hello?” Will’s voice cracked. It was the first time he’d spoken since coming home from Mike’s the day before. He hadn’t even verbally greeted El when she came home, poking her head in with a smile.

“Will! Hey, how are you feeling?” Mike sounded absolutely thrilled to not be ignored.

“I’m okay.”

“Still feel sick? Can I get you anything?”

“No.”

“No what? Do you feel sick still? Or do you not need anything?” Mike asked. He was patient and it was more than Will thought he deserved at the time. He was being completely unreasonable, right? Mike was his boyfriend– the literal love of his life at sixteen– and Will didn’t want to share more than thirty words with him.

There was still a loitering image of Mike– the only image he could seem to conjure when thinking of him– standing in the tunnels again. Unlike most other things in Will’s childhood, this one wouldn’t go away. It refused to be swallowed or pushed down to his feet. Will was walking on the anxiety of high school and fidgeting habits of having an abusive father, why wouldn’t this Now-Memory join them? Watching his own boyfriend wish he’d  _just burn already_  was just as terrible. Will wanted some peace and quiet. Just a little.

“I don’t want to see anyone today.” Will said flatly.

“Oh.” Mike said, pausing. “Is there something wrong?”

“No.”

“Will, I’m not really convinced, I have to say.”

“I just  _don’t_  okay?” Will snapped. He hadn’t done it in years. He barely remembered how to yell. “I–I just, don’t want to see anyone right now, okay. I’m sorry, Mike. I’m tired today.”

“Will, I’m starting to worry.” The other line muffled, like Mike was moving.  _Oh great, you’ve summoned the smart one,_ Will’s mind quipped instinctively. It had said the same thing before when Mike began connecting dots just in Will’s earshot. “I’m coming over– is anyone else home to let me in? I’m assuming you’re in bed… Someone moved the phone, right?” Will blinked, taken aback. This was still his Mike. The Now-Memory had it all wrong.

“Michael,”

“Hey.” Mike said somewhat firmly. “I’m going to be over in like, ten minutes whether you want me to be or not. I’m bringing soup.” Soup on a hot day sounded like a recipe for Will to sweat through his clothes.

For some reason, a deep part of Will’s brain took it as a threat.

“… Okay.” Will bent immediately to the promise. Mike The Friend had set him on fire, watching him burn through a scarf and goggles. Mike The Boyfriend was newer, had far less history and knew far less about Will. Maybe this one would stir up less intense feelings of impending death and unrequited revenge.

_Maybe he doesn’t know your weaknesses._

The voice spoke again. This time, it was an echo of what it had thought moments after it forced Will to recognize “his friend. Mike”. The smile and the wave from Mike made all the difference to Will, but all that was much worse to the monster darting around under the town, swelling and trying to drag Will down with him.

“One, two, three. Be there soon.” Mike said, quickly hanging up.

Will tried to repeat after Mike, but found his tongue too heavy. Maybe when he saw Mike– had him staring at the real Will in present day– Will would feel different. He’d see there was no hatred in Mike’s eyes, no desire to end his life. Will could clear the name of his whole friend group by being seeing Mike, however it is he showed up.

Will had short ten minutes to try and push down the unrelenting notion that something was  _wrong_ , that Will was supposed to be fighting against something or pushing  _them_  away, rather than the memory. Will turned over on his bed, trying to find a different position. One that would let him feel like he was truly alone again. Not silently festering sudden and unidentifiable emotions that were  _not_  his own and quietly taking over his current consciousness–

“Will?” Mike called in the house, interrupting Will’s panicking process. “Plum? You here?” Will was home by himself. There was no one to direct Mike around, but he laid under his covers and waited for Mike to locate him on instinct alone. “There you are!” His messy hair-- Will’s  _favorite_  hair-- bounced as he swung around the corner into his room.

“Hi.” Will couldn’t match Mike’s level of enthusiasm.

“What’s going on in here?” Mike dropped his bag by the door and started toeing off his shoes. “I’ve got a thermos of soup with your name on it whenever you’re hungry.”

“Not now. Can’t stomach anything, I don’t think.” Will pulled the blankets up under his chin. It was another hot day in August, but Will still hesitated giving himself even a breath of reprieve– maybe letting the monster win again.

“Okay, whenever you want.” Mike said, placing his knee down and climbing onto the bed. He maneuvered his way to lay beside Will, bracing his head up on his arm as he faced Will. “Mind if I cuddle in? You said you were feeling weird. I wanna help.”

“No, Mike, you don’t have to–” Will almost didn’t  _want_ him to.

Trying to cover up the dead stare haunting Will’s mind with the sweet loving one in front of him seemed like a ploy. A tactic. A way to smooth over Will’s own deserved rage, hidden just beneath a history he never knew until the day before. What if all of it– everything between them– was a  _test_? A way to know if Mike really got away with nearly trying to kill Will a few years ago and–

“Hey, I want to. I want to.” Mike laughed, and pushed Will’s bang back. He felt his forehead. “You feel feverish? Or is it just a general kind of  _yuck_ feeling today?” Will couldn’t respond; his jaw was clenched far too tightly. “Will? Talk to me. What’s going on? Why… Why do you look  _mad_?”

Hearing it aloud struck Will out of his fog– back into a vague sense of self-awareness. Will was furious at his friends, at  _Mike_  for nothing. Well, nothing Mike was even aware of. It was unfair, it was selfish and crazy and–

“Will? Sugar Plum,  _talk_ to me.” Mike was just below pleading, placing his hand on Will’s chest, pulling the blankets up higher. “I don’t like when you’re quiet… That’s never good.”

Will relaxed his jaw, letting the words form on his tongue. “I remember you… in the tunnels.”

Mike blinked. “...back in eighth grade?  _That_?”

“I remember it. Steve. The lighter. Everything. Everyone.” Will muttered. He finally felt overheated, but it seemed to start only on his chest and run up to his face.

“How? You weren’t there, Will.”

“He saw you.” Will said. “He showed me. Yesterday.”

Mike leaned back, his eyebrows furrowing together slowly. “ _What_?”

“I saw you, all of you, when you lit the tunnels on fire. You were watching me burn.” Will couldn’t see Mike clearly in front of him anymore. It was only the distant memory. His repressed Now-Memory was trying to layer that stranger over Will’s boyfriend. The image was inconsistent and was jarringly unclear.

“Will, that wasn’t you. That was  _never_  you. That was the Mind Flayer.” Mike said softly, shaking his head. “We wanted to watch that  _monster_  that had you go up in flames and–”

“But it still had me!”

“…Did you feel it?” Mike reached out to touch Will’s shoulder. His hands were far softer than the flames trying to flicker behind Will’s eyes.

“Did you want me to?” Will had a lasting strike of anger that escaped before he could control it. Mike blinked at Will, tears suddenly pooling in his eyes. His hands dropped from Will and rested over his own chest-- his own breaking heart.

"You don’t think we actually wanted to hurt you...  _do you_?”

"...What I saw... You were so determined. All of you were so willing to douse me, head to toe--”

“Will, none of that was you. We were trying to hurt the tunnels- the  _monster_.”

“Same thing!” Will cried, pushing himself to sit up. “It was the same thing for a while... For a moment, when you had me tied up, I remember everything turning cold. My vision went all white and I... I couldn’t feel anyone anymore. For a second, I lost my grip and  _it had me,_  Mike. We were the same.”

Mike scrambled to sit up, moving to sit on the end of Will’s bed. His hands rested on Will’s ankles, gentle but distant. “You are not the monster, Will. Having a memory of His doesn’t mean that you two are the same--”

“Then what  _does_  it mean? That I get to just...  _remember_  feeling all this anger toward the people I love? I get to just  _have that forever_.” Will had remembered how to yell. “I didn’t remember the Tunnels until today! Who’s to say that I won’t remember another one when we’re... all at graduation or going to college or going to Lucas and Max’s wedding or--” Will refused to have any positive moment of his life haunted by hearing Mike exclaimed that  _he_  had killed those soldiers and  _he’d kill them too._ Those were traumatic and hopeless moments Will had cut out of himself and pushed aside. He couldn’t deal if there were more, cropping up out of no where.

“Then we’ll take that on together. All of us. We’ll remind you who you are-- and who you  _never_  were.” Mike slid his hands up, leaning in closer to Will. “We wanted to save you, Will. All we wanted to do was save  _you_.”

The evidence was there to argue with Mike. Will had the vision and the fear to convince Mike that  _no_ ,  _he had **felt**  that sinking realization of death_. Although he hadn’t remembered it initially, Will now got to carry that feeling with him going forward. And he had his friends to thank--

No. It wasn’t his friends, it was the monster. Will wasn’t being hunted by the friends around him, he was being haunted long after he thought he’d healed.

"It feels so real.” Will muttered, reaching for Mike’s hands. “But I have to remember: you are too.”

“We’re all real. We’re here for you-- what you saw is all in the past. It’s a ghost, Will. Ghosts are  _always_  dead.” Mike squeezed Will’s hands tightly. “He can’t hurt you anymore-- and we  _never_ will.”

There he was. Will’s Mike. The one that who had written a whole speech before asking if he could kiss Will for the first time. The one that made Will feel safe and protected. The one that kept his promises-- and this Mike was no different.

“I’m sorry I put His words in your mouth.” Will shuddered out a slow sigh. That was his Mike, and he’d betrayed him.

“Hey- no no. It’s alright. You don’t have to apologize. I can’t ask you to just forget what happened to you.” Mike said, moving closer. Will moved the blanket apart, letting Mike kneel between his feet. “I just wish I knew how to help, how to get all that out of your head.”

“... Sometimes I’m afraid it’ll be there forever.” Will hung his head, afraid to admit to Mike he hadn’t yet pushed everything down. He wasn’t as good as he should have been.

“It won’t be, Plum. We’ll work on it. I’ll take care of you.” Mike reached forward and took Will’s head in his hands, pulling him to his chest. Will let himself sigh and relax against Mike’s chest.

“I know you will.” Will laughed, gently petting Mike’s thigh. “You brought soup and  _everything_.”

Mike hiccuped a giggle, wrapping both arms around Will’s shoulders. “Yeah. Soup really cures nightmares, haven’t you heard?”

“The hospital did mention something, now that you bring it up...” Will teased, closing his eyes and letting his full weight rest against Mike’s chest. Mike placed his chin on the top of Will’s head, breathing slowly.

“You’ll tell me the next time things get bad, right?”

“I will.” He promised.

“Thank you.” Mike kissed Will’s head. “I love you.”

There was no one around to hear it but them; Mike’s words weren’t hidden or masked by fear-- and neither was Will’s view of Mike. It was really him, and it was really love. Out loud, out spoken, and out in the open. The Now-Memory still felt fresh, like prickly heat forming just across the back of Will’s neck, but it wasn’t able to hurt him anymore. It was pushed aside by the undeniable affection he felt for Mike. It was the best defense against the twisting torment of false resentment: how could Will ever hate the boy that was openly loving every bit of him-- even the darkest parts that seemed to survive without any light.

The fire had burned Will free from the monster, and offered a chance to put light in those dark, hidden corners. This was Mike, this was  _his_  Mike. And he was  _Mike’s_   _Will_. The monster could never take his place. After all, hearing in the distance-- ringing true and with painful desperation-- “ _the best thing I’ve ever done”_  brought Will back when he thought he’d lost all hope. Not persistence, not anger, not fear, but love.

Love survived darkness, fight, and flame. Always had.

“I love you, Michael.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Rebloggable Post!](https://argylemikewheeler.tumblr.com/post/185692492420/ghosts-are-always-dead)


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